


Preparation Desecration

by morrezela



Series: Chef Jensen & Faux Chef Jared [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Chefs, Blogging, Chefs, Grumpy Jensen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen has to draw the line about Jared’s questionable uses of green food coloring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparation Desecration

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The people mentioned herein belong to themselves. This is a pure and utter work of fiction. Not a teeny, tiny drop of it is real.
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> A/N: This is a timestamp for Out of the Double Boiler, Into the Fryer and Hard Boiled and Crispy Fried. Reading those first is suggested.
> 
> This is my first of five fills for my 2013 St. Patrick’s Day fic meme.
> 
> All mistakes that you find are my own.

“I wish you would understand that McDonald’s is not the sort of place that you should emulate in your cooking,” Jensen said slowly.

Jared ignored him, blithely reminding Jensen that, “Even you like their fries.”

“And if you were trying to replicate them, I wouldn’t be having a food intervention with you,” Jensen responded.

“Jensen!” Jared waved his hands in exasperation, “The internet is already full of recipes to duplicate those golden stick of heaven. I need something new and exciting for my viewers!”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you call anything served from a fast food restaurant heaven. Because if I don’t ignore that, I’m going to have to go cry in the bathroom. You tell me that I’m heavenly in bed, and I’ll be forced to acknowledge that if I was a hooker, I’d be on the dollar menu.”

“Aww,” Jared’s face turned down into a perfect pout. “Baby, if that ever happened, I’d make certain to buy up all your time.”

Jensen scowled at him, and Jared’s face went back to his default smile.

“You’re trying to distract me from the atrocity that you are committing in my kitchen,” Jensen accused.

“Our kitchen,” Jared reminded him, “and it isn’t an atrocity.”

Jensen pointed over to the plaque hanging over his brick oven that boldly proclaimed, “JENSEN’S LAIR AND DOMAIN. BEWARE ALL WHO DARE COOK HERE.”

“I thought I paid for a new kitchen extension, complete with studio grade lighting, for you,” he added. “I did that so that we could be harmonious in our alone time.”

“Well, I didn’t have plain vanilla ice cream or peanut butter or regular butter,” Jared defended himself, “and you weren’t supposed to be home for hours.”

Jensen tried not to feel scandalized but, “What was your kitchen doing without butter?”

Jared rolled his eyes. “You can tack on the ‘you heathen.’ I can hear it anyway.”

“I’m saving that for when you try to convince me that KFC’s mashed potatoes are the perfect accompaniment to a picnic again.”

Jared shook his head sadly. “Jensen, Jensen. Such sorrow you bring to my heart.”

“I thought your thing was frying stuff,” Jensen said, trying to bring their discussion back on topic.

“It is,” Jared admitted slowly, “but it is St. Patrick’s Day. The Dicing Master had this whole webisode where she carved her corned beef into little shamrock shapes and made golden potatoes into the shape of pots of gold and, and some of my longtime viewers are cheating on me.”

“Jared, I understand that you need your viewers, that you have a somewhat odd relationship with them, but them liking another cook on the internet is not cheating. They can like both of you. What about Misha?”

“Misha’s doing an anti-St. Patrick’s Day special with snakes,” Jared pouted.

“Not what I meant,” Jensen told him. “Also? Quit using my good crème de menthe in there. Mint is not Irish, okay? The original shamrock shake wasn’t even mint flavored. It was just green.”

Jared stopped in mid stir. “I don’t know whether to be shocked that it wasn’t or shocked that you know McDonald’s history.”

“I’m a culinary expert. Ignorance is not beneficial to my trade,” Jensen scoffed.

Jared quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, I couldn’t sleep and was reading the comments on Yahoo! News. The point remains that this isn’t your thing. You fry stuff. You make piles of tasteless, artery clogging, gut rot.”

“I’m constantly amazed at how not insulted I am by your continual hatred of my recipes,” Jared observed. “Do you think there is something wrong with me?”

Jensen rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Jared, I’m not even sure why you date me let alone why you decided to live with me. I don’t ask that question, okay? I just accept and move on. What I can’t move on from is your desecration of peanut butter with green coloring. It is a crime against food. Somewhere in Virginia peanuts are quaking, praying that they don’t get sent to our house.”

“Now who is being melodramatic?” Jared asked.

“I’m not the one freaking out over his plan to propose,” Jensen told him.

“What?!”

“I do still watch your show,” Jensen told him. “I’m told it’s something supportive boyfriends do. I even make certain that my kitchen staff aren’t nearby to mock you when I do it. It’s sort of hard to miss you soliciting advice from your online viewers for proposal suggestions.”

“You knew?” Jared demanded.

“Well, yeah.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“… no?”

“You were just going to go around pretending you didn’t know and then act all surprised when I popped the question?”

“You say ‘act.’ I was going to go more for, ‘hope you didn’t notice because you were too nervous.’”

“Why?”

“Because you seemed very excited about the whole idea, and I wasn’t going to ruin it for you? But I’m not exactly good at keeping my mouth shut, so…”

“Were you going to say ‘yes’ or were you just stalling so you could figure out a way to let me down easy?” Jared asked suspiciously.

“Of course I was going to say ‘yes,’” Jensen scoffed as he walked past his boyfriend and started rummaging in his kitchen bookshelf.

“For real? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Yes, Jared. I’m saying that to make you feel better. Because I’d get engaged to and marry a man to spare his feelings because I don’t love him.”

“Well, I don’t know with you sometimes,” Jared defended himself.

“What’s to know? I work too much and am oblivious to large portions of life outside of my job. I don’t have time to be playing relationship games. It puts me off my cooking game.”

“You know that there is something wrong with you, right?” Jared asked.

“My mother has informed me of that, yes,” Jensen said as he held out a stack of index cards. “Luckily she has tapered off on that now that I’m living with you. She seems to think that having a steady boyfriend means that I’m not as dedicated to my craft as I was before. She thinks I’ve found balance in my life.”

“Really? She kind of threatens me to be good to her little boy every time I talk to her,” Jared said.

Jensen just smiled at him and pushed the cards at him. “Don’t lose these,” he warned.

“What are they?”

“A recipe for Reuben balls that uses fresh cabbage instead of sauerkraut, a recipe for colcannon that I’m going to pretend that you’re not going to use to make deep fried mashed potatoes, and my fail proof recipe for battered sausage,” Jensen answered him.

“These are your recipes,” Jared said softly. “Like, your real recipes that you use to make food in your restaurant.”

“In fairness, the ‘St. Patty’s Balls’ were concocted when I was really drunk on real Irish whiskey and being perverted. I just didn’t have the heart to… No, no Jared. You can’t hug me right now, not after committing crimes against butter. It’s too soon.”

“I love you,” Jared said.

Jensen smiled. “Just go back to your fry daddy mayhem and butcher my poor children in the name of fried entertainment. I’ll be here when you get done.”


End file.
